


The Tombs

by nicholas_de_vilance



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Multi, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 14:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15293514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicholas_de_vilance/pseuds/nicholas_de_vilance
Summary: Bury me deep...





	The Tombs

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after episode three aired. Just finished it. I know it's not nearly how things are gonna go, but I hope you like it anyway.

Aside from getting stabbed in the shoulder, his night had been going pretty well before it all went to shit.  Over a stupid mistake. He should have known better, hunting around an unfamiliar yard for a chicken of all things.  It felt like some kind of new low for him: not only held at gunpoint by an inbred moron, but covered in chicken blood as well.  Seriously, what’s the big hang up about monsters? He fit right into all this voodoo madness. No convincing T.C. of that before he got his lights knocked out.  From waking up strung up by the ankles to a tree, to being beaten, chained and dragged into the basement from Silence of the Lambs, he ultimately blamed this all on Jesse.  If the fucker hadn’t taken his blood packs, this wouldn’t have happened. He wouldn’t be in a fucked up deathmatch with some random - Christ-alive, where did they find this half-rotten fuck - schmuck pedophile, if Jesse had just left well-enough alone.  Cassidy had been hiding being a vampire from various strangers for the better part of a century, he had it under control. Not this fight though. The shouts and screams of the crowd made him think of a warzone, and his opponent was unsettlingly despondent.  Drive to go forward only by instinct and nothing more. There wasn’t anybody in there. The whole affair just gave Cass goose pimples, and when the potion fell from his pocket he lost his footing and his focus. He might have lost his head to that machete, but it really wouldn’t have killed him.  Jody would, he suspected, if he lost.

 

On his back, barring his opponent's armed hand with his own, he scrabbled at the floor to reach that damn flail - a fucking flail, how ludicrous!  Luckily the pedophile wasn’t very sharp. He threw all of his weight onto one arm and bore down. Cassidy was fairly strong, though. He held the bastard back and wrapped his fingers around the haft of his weapon.  One good blow to the head and the fight ended. The poor sod had his skull caved in a bit and just sort of fell backward. Which was unfortunate, really. Contrary to popular belief, Cassidy didn’t care for hurting people, or meaningless death.  It was bad form killing a bloke that did him no wrong. He followed where his timely opponent fell and tried to find a pulse. None.

 

Jesse grabbed his arm and announced him a champion.  He didn’t feel like one, just exhausted. He fell back, his recent query forgotten as they dragged the body away.  Some trivial conversation above him, then Jesse kicked him in the face. And damn, that stung. Maybe there was some bigger plan here, maybe Jesse had to put on an act or become part of this one, but Cassidy had a couple concussions and he had trouble seeing a bigger picture here.  For these moments, he absolutely hated the man. Told him so, too. Right before Jesse cut his belly open so he couldn’t run away and left him alone in the dark.

 

So yeah, aside from getting stabbed - which was also Jesse’s fault - his night had been going pretty well before it all went to shit.

 

-:-

 

His first visitor was the weaselly fucker, T.C., an armful of red-stained jars in his carry.  Cassidy watched him scurry around with a little jump in his every other step. Hadn’t seen the man so cheerful since they got high together.  A sick lump twisted round in his throbbing gut as T.C. went over to heft those chains back into view. What had he done to deserve this? He regretted ever meeting Jesse Custer or Tulip O’Hare, either of them.  His pain consumed him, making it hard to think beyond the desperate urge to feed. It was hard to get around that Feral Beast in his head. That’s why when T.C. came walking over with his rapidly thrumming veins, Cass tried to bite at his leg.  Another kick to the face.

 

T.C. put the chains on while Cassidy reeled from the blow.   “T’ought yeh liked me,” Cass retorted, ironically.

 

“That’s afore we figured out you’s a vampire,” the idiot reported.

 

“Why’s it make a difference, mate?”

 

He actually seemed to stop for a moment and think as he snapped the lock shut on the heavy ring around Cassidy’s neck.  “'Coz you a monster,” he said.

 

Cass coughed up a little of his own blood and let the subject lie.  T.C. was the one who chimed in again. “Wanna know a secret?” He asked, goofy grin on his face.

 

“Not really, yeh half-witted son of a whore.”

 

T.C. just laughed.  “I still like you.”

 

_ Oh good Lord no-longer-in Heaven, spare me. _  Cassidy heaved a sigh and hesitantly looked over to see T.C. offering an open jar of partly congealed blood.  The sight of it made him gag. The books have vampires written up to be these orgiastic blood fetishists, and that just really isn’t the case.  Unless it’s fresh - like straight out of the vein - it tasted like rotting meat. And even when some unfortunate sod fell as he prey, it wasn’t exactly good - it was blood, it tasted like blood.  This science experiment was hard going down. T.C. courteously held the jar to Cass’ mouth and chattered on.

 

“I remember you was sayin’ somethin’ earlier,” he rambled, “like you’s a homo.  I only wanted you...only wanted you to know, I don’t think y'all that weird. I know I’ve been inclined, afore.  You ain’t unattractive.”

 

Cass glared at him as well as he could given current circumstances and swallowed the thick shit.  “T.C., get the fuck away from me,” he insisted.

 

The creep laughed again.  “Y’act like you kin stop me.”

 

Bitter dread coated the back of his throat, but he maintained face.  No good showing weakness at a time like this. “Make no mistake, boyo,” he snapped, “eventually m’gonna get outta this, an’ then m’gonna go on a murderous rampage.  An’ f’ye come anywhere near me wi’ tha’ mutated excuse fer a prick, sooner’re later, I’ll bite it off, mate.”

 

“In the meantime, kin I aks you a question.”  From his belt, he extracted a long, thin blade, slightly curved, perfect for skinning.  “I take your eye out and fuck the hole, ya think it gone grow back right?”

 

“I think m’comin’ fer ya first,” Cass threatened, grabbing for the jar.  Perfectly good knife hovering inches away from his face, and he goes for the blood.  Always the blood, it was to easy to get fixated. The smell of it, rank against his sensitive nose.  The deep, tantalizing red. A pretty packaging around a mouthful of body fluid. That was his priority seated beside his potential rapist, and it wasn’t even enough to heal him up.

 

Jody came next, shouting down the cellar stairs.  “T.C.! Miss Marie want you!”

 

Distracted, T.C. moved the knife and consequently the jar out of Cassidy’s reach.  The vampire tried to move, push himself up despite his slowly healing stomach wound.  An elbow shot out into his head, knocking him back down.

 

“What’choo doing down here so long anyhow?” Jody pressed.  “Don’t go ‘making nice’ with the attractions again.”

 

Again?  Cass was struck with the sudden, horrifying mental image of T.C. raping a poor shmuck like the one he’d just killed.  It occurred to him that Jesse may have been right. Should have listened and fucked off while he still had the chance.  He hadn’t the comprehension before of just how twisted and evil these fuckers were. They had the gall to call him a monster.

 

“Uh, I’s just…”

 

“Just nothin’, go on.”

 

The creep dumped his jar, standing so fast the thing toppled over and spilled all over the ground.  A true travesty - it may have been nasty, but it was all these assholes would give him. There were two more jars a distance out of Cassidy’s reach.  His stomach was slowly beginning to stitch itself together, but he needed more. And he didn’t want to ask Jody for a favor - not after the gleeful beating he’d received from the man earlier.  It’s no wonder Jesse’s so fucked in the head, what with a guy like Jody as a father figure.

 

“What d’ye want,” he inquired, breathlessly, “m’not goin’ anywhere wi’ me guts hangin’ out and the weights round me neck.”

 

Jody didn't grin very often, didn’t really need to.  He could skim the hair off any god-fearing man with just a look.  He grinned now, wryly but not without amusement. “I don’t give a shit, but you try an’ run off we just gone string you up again.”

 

“What did I do?”

 

“T’ain’t what you did, s’what you is.”

 

“Wasn’t always like this, y’know.  Once upon a time, I’s a right upstandin’ lad.  Christ, so long ago now s’hard t’remember.”

 

“That 'coz it ain’t you,” Jody snapped, voice low and thrumming with blatant emotion.  It was the most reaction Cass had ever gotten out of the man, and he wasn’t even sure what it was.  Something frightening, something red. “Whatever that kid was an’ however he acted died the moment that monster tore a chunk outta yo neck.  You just a remnant’a somethin’ good, gone sour.”

 

“Woah, Christ, ye’ve actually got a brain up in yer 'ead, there.  Some deep shite, tha’ is. I did not see tha’ comin’, t’be sure.”

 

Jody slammed a steel-toed work boot into Cass’ side and then stomped on the hand that tried to block the next kick. It came into his gut, just nicked the edge of the wound.  Cass found himself winded both by the force of the blow and the pain of a boot buckle tearing at an open seam. He coughed and hacked up a little more of his own blood. It mixed in with that of the nameless pedophile and some form of swamp life, now just a massive stain to match the one on his soul.  “Fuck! But what’re ye tho’, but a great ugly beast like me.”

 

He expected another kick, but it never came.  Instead, Jody sauntered over to the jars still standing up.  Cassidy watched with no small amount of rage as the big man stooped to unscrew the tops and knocked them over to spill on the ground.

 

“Eat up, vampire,” Jody said, “you stop makin’ us money, we gone string you up again.”

 

Great bastard spilled it all and just sauntered on up the stairs.

 

-:-

 

This was far from the first time Cassidy had to eat off the floor, wasn’t even the worst floor he’d eaten off of.  At least it wasn’t a toilet. Made him think of a distant town that no longer existed. There was dirt mixed in with the congealed goop T.C. had given him because Jody was a right prick.  Still, it did the trick. Cass’ stomach healed up nice, the concussions started to fade away. By the time Jesse brought his sorry ass down here, Cass was covered in blood but for the most part whole.  He didn’t say anything either, just licked vile swamp life from his fingertips and watched Jesse bring out a mop and bucket. There passed several moments of awkward silence, where Cassidy refused to cave first and the devil only knew what went on in Jesse’s head.  There was a distinct herd of elephants in the room, none of which would be talked about within a thirty mile radius of where Jody might be listening. At the very least, Jesse might try to make conversation, something. Maybe a hushed apology, that would be very nice.  Instead, Cassidy watched him drag a mop back and forth.

 

After a little while, Jesse looked up at the floor above them and spoke, no higher than a whisper.  “I ain’t leavin’ you down here,” he said, pushing his mop to and fro. It did more to smear the mess around than actually clean anything up.

 

“Well, tha’s a bloody relief.”

 

“Cass!” Jesse hissed, waving an arm, a clear sign to shut the fuck up.  Then, he gestured upward and put a finger over his lips.

 

Well, isn’t that convenient for him.  They couldn’t talk it out, couldn’t fight it out, Cass was doomed to just sit and listen to whatever self-righteous drivel fell out of the preacher’s mouth this time.  “Fine,” he replied as quietly as Jesse, “but ye might wanna hurry up wi’ th’ rescue b’fore the little, creepy one uses me skull fer a Fleshlight.”

 

The look on Jesse face would have been hilarious in another setting.  Like he just couldn’t imagine how that would even work and then - there it is.  The logistics must have clicked, Jesse’s mouth turned down in disgust. “He’s not...he isn’t allowed to do that shit.”

 

Cassidy almost asked if that ever stopped the little prick before, but he really didn’t want to know.  He brought his knees up to rest his arms on and laid his head down on top. “Tha’ doesn’t make me feel bet’er,” he uttered.

 

“Look, I just gotta find Tulip, and -”

 

“Where the fuck’s Tulip?”

 

“Shhh!”  Jesse kicked his foot and went over to the open cellar door to check he wasn’t being eavesdropped on.  “I dunno, alright? I told her to sit tight, but she took off and now she ain’t answerin’ her phone.”

 

“Well, no offense Padre, but she doesn’t exactly do what ye tell’er to,” Cass whispered back.

 

“I noticed,” Jesse grumbled as he picked up his mop and went back to it.  “Just...soon’s I find her, she’ll get you outta here.”

 

“Like, 'outta here’?  'Coz I told ye, Padre, m’not -”

 

“Not goin’ anywhere without Tulip, I know, so -”

 

“Wait, wait, I t’ought,” Cass cleared his throat and lowered his voice when Jesse kicked his foot again.  “I t’ought it went without sayin’ but I s’pose not. M’not goin’ anywhere without ye either. Certainly not gonna leave ya in this freakshow under yer evil granma's thumb.”

 

Just like that, Jesse stopped and looked at him like he’d grown another head.  Like he didn’t comprehend. Cass smirked and went on, “can’t 'ave Tulip without Jesse Custer, eh?”

 

Jesse opened his mouth, but no words came out, so Cass just kept talking.  “I shoulda listened t’ya,” he muttered, “shoulda got th’ fuck outta here, ye were right about tha’.  Much as yer ego doesn’t need t’ bloody hear it.”

 

“Heh, yeah...you’re right, too,” the preacher admitted, with a wry laugh.  “Cass, I-” and he can almost hear the 'I’m sorry’ that doesn’t actually make it out.  He couldn’t torture an apology out of this man. 

 

“Right, what d’ya need?” Cassidy asked, like he always did - and always would.  “How can I ‘elp?”

 

And there was yet another head poking out from his shoulders, or so Jesse seemed to see one.  The preacher’s mouth hung ajar for a total of three seconds. “Just…” he found his quiet, scratchy voice again.  “Just keep playin’ along. And...try not to hate me too much.”

 

At that, Cass scoffed.  He couldn’t really hate the man, not forever anyway.  Right now, he was hurt and tired and it was only going to get worse.  He’d been in more than his fair share of shit situations, so he knew things were going to get worse before they got any better.  Either he was in for a long night or a long week - he didn’t see it lasting much longer than that - but by the end of it he imagined he’d be out of here _or_ _dead_.  In his current mood, he didn’t know which outcome he preferred more.  “Play along an’ be a monster, eh?”

 

Jesse didn’t reply, but he kept his head down.  That was enough of an affirmative. Cass took a moment to really look at him, hunched over, contrite.  He’d looked a bit like that the entire time they’d been here. The thought occurred to Cassidy that this was a horrible place with horrible people and he was immensely offended that coming back home to this shit was preferable to letting his girlfriend be turned.  Fuck, maybe it was and Cass was just that jaded. More than offense, he was outraged. These people were obviously Jesse’s abusers, from the deep, dark past he never talked about. They had him wound so tight around a fucking napkin that he couldn’t even talk to his friends.  Cassidy wished he had the strength to rip Jody’s heart out and Grandma Marie, too. That Feral Beast, ever at the back of his mind reminded him that he did.

 

“Okay,” he acquiesced, glumly.  “Jus’ don’ hate me fer this, then, ay?”

 

He caught Jesse when his back was turned, shot up as quick as a flash.  There wasn’t much energy left to be drawn from what he’d consumed of that swamp concoction, but he could put on a show.  He gripped a leg and dragged the man down to the ground. Jesse fought back once he caught on. They tussled around, grabbing at throats and making a commotion.  Cass snarled like an animal and grabbed a fistful of Jesse’s hair. The preacher slammed a fist against his stomach over and over and called for Jody.

 

“Any second now,” Cass said, voice low and gravely, strained with the effort of holding down Jesse Custer.  Jody would be in any second now, to happen upon this little show and probably just hurt him some more.

 

“Cass, I love you,” Jesse hissed.

 

It felt like yesterday, with Tulip.  She just knelt above him in the non-quite-sunshine of an overcast day and laughed and said she loved him.  Then, his heart about stopped and his face just sort went numb. He couldn’t bring himself to respond then, and he didn’t think he had it in him this time either.  He just hovered there, stunned, looking down at his best mate on the dingy tomb floor. The words hit like a thimble of heroin, or like a splash of cold water on a hot day.  Cass didn’t realize how much he physically yearned to hear it until it happened. And such a setting.

 

“Yer timin’s absolute shite, “ Cass teased, grumpily.

 

There was a small commotion up above.  The door shivered on its hinges as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Fuck came slamming down the stairs.  Jody yanked Cass up by the back of his shirt, strangling him with the force. He lifted the vampire up all the way and threw him forcefully into the wall.  Cass felt his nose crack to the side and something in his neck gave. He’d had worse, he’d be alright. On the bright side, he landed next to the grate where he’d lost the potion.  Having it safely tucked away in his not gaping pocket actually made him feel a lot better. Even with blood gushing from his nose.

 

“Damnit, Lil’ Jesse,” Jody growled, dragging the preacher to his feet again by the front of his shirt.  “It ain’t yo friend, don’t let it close.”

 

“Fuckin’-A right?” Cass exclaimed, but Jody just shoved him back into the wall.

 

Luckily, Cass blacked out for a little bit.

 

-:-

 

The Tombs of the L’Angelle estate consisted of a long, wide basement cut out of rock and filled with cement.  Raised podiums lined a central walkway, sloped to a certain degree. The lowest point was stained with blood and abruptly cut off by a sewer grate.  Before the grate, lay the battlefield. Weapons lined the walls above, all melee for close quarters combat. In concert with the eerie, serial killer vibe, each of the three corners of the ring had an inlaid chain about three feet up.  On the end of that chain, a manacle wide enough for a neck. Cassidy picked at the one around his and wondered how many poor sods had their skulls bashed in down there, while he waited for the time he had to do it again. He had cuffs around his wrists, too, heavy weights locked around them.  In the interim, T.C. came and changed his shirt - and took great delight in cutting the bloodstained rag from Cassidy’s chest. They gave him a button up, horrid thing. To be honest, Cass was going to hate seeing the Paisley monstrosity get covered in blood. Then, the people started filing in.

 

One by one down the ramp they came, climbing onto the podiums - a true crowd.  Some people had to stay on the ground, remain level with the deadly action about to take place before them.  Cassidy glared at every single one of them in turn. Sick fucks.

 

“Welcome back you sick sonsabitches.”

 

Jesse gave the same greeting, with the same intonation.  Same stupid tophat. He looked dashing, and Cass really hated him.  T.C. hurried over to undo his restraints while Jody led in the next doomed fucker.  Jesse worked the room with a sharp gaze and the right style of movement, all very well-practiced.

 

“Your reigning champion, the dirty bloodsucker,” he intoned, “versus a rapist, murdering scumbag.”

 

Cass wished he’d meant T.C. - would have loved for a shot at mutilating that little shit.  No, this was a man his height, stocky and broad shouldered. Not quite the hollow shell Cassidy fought before, but almost.  There was something alive in him, an angry gleam in his eye. This might actually be a challenge. They gave him a sword, this time, an actual longsword.  Threw it into the middle so that the other could grab it if he wanted. Cass dove for it before they even got a signal.

 

“Let’s fight!” Jesse exclaimed.

 

Just like before, both fighters were stirred into action.  The other bloke had a hammer in the right hand and an authentic, nineteenth century saber in the other.  Cass stood his ground, hefting that longsword and waiting to see which his opponent attacked with first. Left hand, a lefty - good to know.  He blocked he downward strike of the saber and took advantage of the open stance to kick the man directly in the balls. The hammer came slamming down with the hooked side embedding into Cassidy’s shoulder.  They both fell to the ground.

 

The rapist wasn’t as phazed as he should have been by Cassidy’s blow.  As they wrestled, Cass ended up on his back and the asshole slammed a fist into the hammer to push it deeper.  Stars flashed across his vision at the pain. The vampire kept up a mantra in his head  _ “ye’ve had worse, ye’ve had worse, jus’ keep goin’, ye’ve had worse.” _  He reached out for his fallen weapon at the same time he brought his knee up between them.  With a hard swing, Cassidy caught his opponent on the neck. The blade was too dull to take a head off, but there was a satisfying crunch of bone.

 

He grappled with his fellow inmate, turning the tables as the other man reeled.  Got his arm around a throat and found some footing on his knees. Too close quarters for using a long weapon, so Cass took a deep breath and yanked the hammer out of his shoulder.  Unfortunately, amidst his distraction and before he could make any strike, the asshole bit his index and middle fingers. Damn near bit them off. Instinct had him scrabbling away. He lost his advantage, but he kept his digits attached.

 

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, putting a little distance between them.  He leaned against the opposite wall and cradled his wounded hand under his shirt.  “Careful, ya little gobshite, I bite back.”

 

Cassidy lunged forward, swinging the hammer down.  His opponent shot up at him, hands clawed as though to emulate a vicious animal.  He didn’t seem vicious, just intent. He wanted to be here about as much as Cassidy did, the difference was he was just a man with no soul.  Cassidy was an immortal monster, and he could and would fight after the point at which a normal man would die. He felt a thrilling rush as that hammer fell.  His mark was the forehead, but he missed and struck the shoulder. Another satisfying crunch of bone. The other fighter stood at a painful angle, shoulder slumped, neck swelling up.  He looked like the hunchback from that Disney movie.

 

They broke up in the eye of the storm, as the rapist backed off and held his shoulder.  He swayed and watched Cassidy as the monster watched him right back. Something scary at the back of Cass’ head was very pleased - the Feral Beast.  He felt himself grin, felt another thrill almost like a pang of arousal flower out from his gut. He was beginning to thoroughly enjoy this, the pain just mixed in with his new-found pleasure, driving through his veins and bringing him to a new height.  It made the reasonable part of him ill. He'd never really been a fan of adrenaline high, not by itself at least. The Beast in him, though, that was an entirely other set of tastes. It revelled in the gritty rage, the dirty sense of violence brewing in this over-packed room.

 

“C’mon then, arsehole,” he started to say, wishing to instigate more.  This wasn’t to make the trial shorter. Rather, he  _ wanted more _ , lusted for it.

 

Before he quite finished, someone in the back of the crowd threw a bottle at him, shouting “get the fuck on with it!”  It was half full and hit Cassidy in the face. The crowd went wild, absolutely ruthless jeering and carrying in. Demanding his death or the other’s.  Glass shattered across his face, shredding little pockets of his skin open. His left cheek and brow took the focus of the damage. The worst part was, as Cassidy put his hands up to defend against the shrapnel, he forced the spray of beer into his own nose.  His recently broken nose. It hurt like acid being thrown into his face, but on the inside. Then, an even greater pain took him as that saber impaled him through the gut. He felt himself lifted slightly and then the cold concrete wall slammed against his back.  It took several moments to clear his vision and stop whining like a little bitch. When he did, he saw the other and realized what happened.

 

There was a distinct lull to the crowd.  Everyone who still chattered, did so quietly.  Cassidy wondered if they were waiting for him to die.  His opponent had a stupid grin, so maybe. He laughed, he couldn’t help it.  That Feral Beast laughed in his ears and it just came out of his mouth. He grabbed the sword with both of his hands and grinned like a maniac.

 

“Fuckin’ morons,” he chided everyone at once.  “M’a bloody vampire.”

 

The absolute next thing he remembered he was on his knees again.  He had his opponent pinned and his teeth buried in the man’s neck.  The saber rested to the hilt inside of his torso, probably jutting out over-dramatically from his back.  His every sense was blood. Red, pungent, slippery, messy blood. There goes another shirt. His opponent died miserably, exsanguinated and broken.  Cass only came back to himself as that weakening heartbeat he felt against his teeth finally faded away.

 

“Gentlemen,” Jesse announced somewhere very far away, with an unmistakably smug grin on his face.  “Your Champion.”

 

Everyone in the room was stone silent, horrified.  So watching soulless bastards beat each other to a pulp was fine, but they drew the line at cannibalism it seemed.  Cass dropped the body and got to his feet. He felt good, too good. Elated, despite having been run through. Speaking of which, he had to do something about that before the high faded.  He gripped it by the handle and yanked it a good solid couple of times until it fled his body. The wound healed almost instantly. 

Someone in the back shouted.  And it started them all up again.  Apparently there was no line. Everyone in the room started cheering for the vampire, and Cass would have been flattered if he wasn’t so sick.  People began to disperse, but Cassidy only had eyes for the body on the floor. He wiped at the blood on his mouth and incidentally spread more around his face.  He probably looked like he’d been through the organ grinder, but his body was whole. As the high of sated bloodlust faded, as he recalled his humanity, he wished he could be okay with his actions.  Happy go lucky vampire with nary a care in world, that’s what most people who knew him thought. But really, he could do without the vampire part. He was far too old for this shit.

 

He barely made a move as they chained him up again, as they carted away his most recent kill.  Hadn’t the capacity to react, even when Jesse surreptitiously squeezed his arm on their way out.  The light went off. Standing there, alone in the dark with naught but his thoughts and that Feral Beast to keep him company, he prayed to Jesse Custer and Tulip O’Hare.

 

-:-

 

At around noon, Cassidy finally managed to fall asleep from the mind-numbing boredom.  Only to be woken again by the lock turning on the trap door above. His ear was especially attuned to any possibility that Jody - or even worse, T.C. - meant to come down here.  Jesse would have been fine, he supposed, but he really didn’t expect Tulip. She let in the golden sun as well as the heat, and ran a cloth over her sweat-soaked brow. Well, maybe not all that.  He was still half-asleep, probably seeing things. However, he could see she was wearing a darling little floral number with a leather jacket. The light painted her face bronze. She spotted him and made a face.

 

“Woah, you look like shee-it,” she said.  “I shoulda hit him harder.”

 

Cassidy delighted in the thought that Tulip hit Jesse.  Someone needed to and Cass was ill-equipped. “It weren’t completely his fault, luv,” he told her, in the interest of full-disclosure.  “I’da been strung up an’ burned at sunrise f’not fer yer preacher.”

 

“Yeah, maybe so but he is gettin’ right on my last nerve.”  She stood above him in a halo of light, the only pure spot amongst the left over gore.  She looked like an angel.

 

“It looks a lot worse’n it is,” he informed her, “'sides th’ more pressin’ matter is where the bloody hell ‘ave ye been, girl?”

 

“Gettin’ a cure for Jesse’s curse,” she said, as though this was the eighth time today she’d had to repeat it.  She even rolled her eyes.

 

Cass was smitten.  “An’ did yeh get one?”

 

“O’course I did,” she told him, pleased with herself.  “It’s a potion-y thing - but first, I got you a little snack.”  She pulled a small insulated lunch pail from her side and set it down in front of him.  “Jesse said you might need a little pick-me-up for our plan.”

 

Honestly, Cassidy was expecting a couple blood packs from the local ER, not much else.  However, the pleasant surprise was a small bottle labeled dextroamphetamine tucked between packs.  He grinned, small, and he was struck by his fondness for her.

 

“Some speed in 'ere!  Oh, luv yer a sweetheart.”

 

“Thought ya’d like that,” she said, kneeling down before him.  “Now, I guess I should tell you the plan.”

 

“Will yeh take the shackle off first?” he inquired, jiggling the collar round his neck.

 

“Can’t.”  That wasn’t a good sign.

 

“What've I gotta do?”

 

“You ain’t gonna like it.”

 

-:-

 

Out of the three inhabitants of the Angelville estate, the most immediate threats were the ones that would run and tell the old lady what they were up to.  Jody and T.C. were Madame Marie’s eyes and ears where her aged limitations forbade her go. They kept an eye on things - on Jesse. Wherever Jesse went, Jody went with him, and T.C. looked like an inbred moron, but…  Well, he was an inbred moron; he just had a knack for being in the right place at the right time. The true obstacle was Jesse’s pact with his grandma but they couldn’t do a thing about that until the Tweedle Twins were out of the way.

 

The plan was to wait until sundown, do a spell and kill the old lady.  Cassidy had the daunting task of the distraction. He wasn’t exactly clear on all of the details, what kind of spell it was, how it was supposed to stop Marie from just ripping Jesse’s little napkin into pieces.  Or what they planned to do with Jody. However, he did trust Tulip - if she said she had it covered, he believed her. If she said she needed a distraction he said “yes, ma’am.” He popped some pills and downed a couple packs of the original sangria and set about making the biggest ruckus he could.  Mainly, he rattled the chain around his neck and shouted for T.C. at the top of his lungs.

 

T.C. was, predictably, on him like flies on shit.  The trap door flew open, and the skinny little twat came running down with a shotgun in his hands.  “What in the hell are you on about?” he snapped.

 

Cass adopted a somewhat predatory grin and took a seat on one of the raised podiums.  “I missed ya,” he lied, feigning innocence. “Look, I wanted t’say: m’sorry ‘bout last night.  I’s a bit rude t’ya, wasn’t I?”

 

Head cocked, T.C. lowered the shotgun to his side and looked Cassidy up and down.  He suspected something, but he was too stupid to know what. “Tha’s...tha’s okay I’m used to it.”

 

“No, no I mean it,” Cass went on, “‘ad a long while down ‘ere, gave me time t’think.  I t’ought, ‘y’know, T.C.’s not a bad bloke, maybe 'e jus’ needs some company 'sides Jody and the ol-Madame Marie fer once.’  Don’ yeh get bored o’ th’ same ol’ folk day in and day out?”

 

“Heh, I s’pose so,” he replied, starting to smile that cute, sociopathic grin.  “What’choo wanna talk about?”

 

“Well, I heard from a reliable source tha’ yer...dingle, was it?  Now, apparently s’a sight ta behold.”

 

The creep’s brow furrowed.  “But you said -”

 

“I know wha’ I said, yeah.  But mate, ye gotta understand m’losin’ me mind down 'ere.”

 

With much hesitation coloring his movements, he put the shotgun down against the wall.  “Ya wanna see it?” he clarified, still not one-hundred percent convinced this wasn’t a trick.  Guy was getting smart, it seemed.

 

“Yeah, sure why not?”

 

Dust settled between them in the silence that passed.  T.C. considered him with a touch more concentration than he usually had employ in the average aspects of his life.  It looked like he was trying to do maths. “Ah-alrigh’,” he acquiesced at great length.

 

The creep took his belt open and then his fly.  He seemed more excited to actually be doing it rather than the thinking of it.  His hands moved too fast in his excitement. Once he finally got his trousers down, he put his hands on his hips, an awkward pose for the display's sake.  Cassidy just barely swallowed his laugh, had to cover his mouth to hide his grin. The object in question - T.C.’s aptly named “dingle” - was fairly average, actually.  Maybe a bit on the small side, but it was cold down here. Had to take that into account. It was a small disappointment, actually, Cassidy had expected something a little more shocking - like scales or scars or something.

 

“So...what’choo think?”

 

Clearing his throat surreptitiously, Cass nodded.  “Well, f’ya wanna know me honest opinion,” he began, “I t’ink yer bigger’n I am, mate.”  Which was a lie, but there was no reason to assume T.C. would find him out about that any time soon.  “Y’know, f’ya come over 'ere, I might jus’ touch it.”

 

Too eager.  T.C. didn’t stop to think this time.  He just marched on over to a monster, unarmed.  Cassidy shot up and kicked him in his vulnerable groin.  Talk about being caught with your pants down. He landed another blow behind the knees and pinned the creep kneeling with an arm around his neck and a hand squeezing tight around his balls.  He squawked with a satisfying amount of pain and clawed at Cassidy’s arm. One good tug to his nutsack and he stopped altogether.

 

“Lemme jus’ warn yeh,” Cassidy hiss in his ear, “one hard yank and ye’ll never get it up again, aye?”

 

“Tricked me, ya sonuva -”

 

“Where’s the key?”

 

“Jody -”  That was not what he wanted to hear, and he hoped T.C. was lying.  So he squeezed again and tightened his arm around the creep’s neck.

 

“Try again, where’s th’  _ fuckin’ _ key?”

 

“Okay, aaah!  Okay, I got it,” the creep corrected himself.  “In my pocket. Jus’ leggo.”

 

Much as he’d like to rip his balls off, Cassidy had someplace to be.  He released T.C.’s aching nuts and grabbed his head instead. Been a while since he’d snapped a neck, but it was a bit like riding a bike.  A very difficult bike that you needed a great deal of strength and agility to ride, but Cass had those things. And the drug gave him a boost on both points.  He put a hand on T.C.’s chin and crown both and yanked back and to the side.

 

T.C. died clutching his nuts in a blood soaked basement from the slave days.  Somehow it felt so fitting. When that heartbeat faded, Cassidy finally let the man fall.  He righted himself, searched through pockets for the key and got the fuck out of there.

 

-:-

 

The one drawback to the South had to be the bugs.  So many bugs, buzzing around, flying at your face, making all sorts of noise.  Cicadas made an eerie atmosphere to fill the green blue of the late-evening Louisiana sky.  Dirty cobalt clouds framed the plantation fields as the last flickers of day faded away and the buzzing screech of those damn bugs made the sticky heat all the more unbearable.  Cassidy found Tulip’s car parked in the mid ground between the slave’s quarters and the main house. He tore open the glove compartment for a pack of cigarettes. He needed one, badly.  A spark from Tulip’s Bic spilled illumination onto the area around him. He burned the tip and took cancerous smoke into his greedy lungs. He reclined against the side of the car and got a glimpse of himself in the side mirror.

 

“Yeesh, ya look like beaten shite,” he scolded himself.

 

While he was picking dried blood from his face, he caught a whiff of barbecue.  Then, his eyes started to burn. A rush of heat wafted over him. Then and only then could he tear himself away from grooming.  Looking up, he saw the manor engulfed in flames. Tulip and Jesse ran toward him over the field. Both of them were smiling like loons.  Cassidy felt something like fondness in his gut, and it flowered out to the rest of him like a pleasant high.

 

“There y’are, me lovelies,” he announced as they approached the car.

 

“Yeah, yeah, we’re awesome,” Tulip said, “get in the car.”

 

He moved to do just that when Jesse put a hand on his arm.  “Wait, Cass,” he said, that low, roguish rumble. “Look, I’m sorry.  Ya been through hell for me these last few days. You and Tulip both, and I just...well I feel like shit about it.  Really, just awful.”

 

Cass raised an eyebrow and grinned.  “Oh shite, yeh burned down th’ house 'fore I could grab ye a straw,” was his reply.

 

Cass had grown two heads again, by the look on Jesse’s face.  “What? Why?”

 

“So yeh could suck it up,” Cassidy informed him, “an’ we could get goin’.  All’s I needed was an apology.”

 

“Oh…”  Jesse blinked a few times, his lips pursed, brow folded.  “So we’re good then?”

 

“We’re good, Padre.  I do t’ink we should probably keep th’ cult involvement to a minimum fer a while, tho, eh?”

 

“I said  _ git _ in the car!”  Tulip called through the open, driver’s side window. as the starter pattered and the engine roar to life.  “Now, git!”

 

Cassidy gave a hooting laughing and tapped the door before he pulled it open.  Jesse followed suit and the Chevelle’s tires screeched over the damp gravel. They peeled out of the field and on to the road leaving nothing but dead bad guys and flames.  So the three lived to see another day. Cassidy in the back arguing about the Big Lebowski, Tulip in the driver's seat yelling “no, no, no,” to everything he said. Jesse sat shotgun with his shades and his collar; as ever, dressed to kill.


End file.
